


Be Blind to Myself

by DoctorSyntax



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bondage, Episode: s01e06 Skin, Humiliation, M/M, Missing Scene, Pseudo-Incest, brief dub-con, incestuous thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-28 00:46:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorSyntax/pseuds/DoctorSyntax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>“The shifter leans forward, whispering in Sam’s ear, and it’s impossible not to hear </em>Dean<em>. ‘Admit it, Sammy. You want me.’ And God help him, but Sam </em>does<em>.”</em> An alternate take on that first meeting between Sam and the shifter in "Skin".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Blind to Myself

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "The Alternative" by IAMX.

"See, deep down I'm just jealous. You've got friends, you could have a life. Me? I know I'm a freak." Dean—no, the shifter—slides one of his hands up Sam's thigh, thumb trailing along the inseam of his jeans. Sam jumps at the touch.

"Like I said," the shifter says, curling Dean's mouth into a smile. " _Issues_. Your beloved brother here has them in spades." The shifter brings their faces close together, noses bumping against one another; Sam squeezes eyes shut, not wanting to see the unfamiliar expression in the eyes he knows so well. But he can still feel Dean's breath, hot against his mouth. Their faces are very, _very_ close together.

The shifter laughs, then, and it sounds like Dean when he's well and truly pleased—rich and deep. Sam forces down another wave of nausea. "In fact, he's _so_ fucked up, I don't think he even _realizes_ that your baggage is a matching set." His hands come off Sam's thighs and Sam blinks his eyes open, as much a reaction to the loss of heat as the need to make eye contact.

"You're wrong," he denies, and if his voice sounds hollow to his own ears, then surely the shifter will notice it too.

The shifter grins, shaking his head, and points a knife at Sam as casually as pointing a finger. "Now, now, Sammy, we both know that's not true."

"Don't—"

"Call you Sammy?" the shifter finishes, blinking innocently. He hunches back over again, resting a hand on each of Sam's knees. His eyes burn into Sam's, observant in a way Dean's have never been. Dean notices everything about Sam, except _this_. "Why not, little brother?"

Sam doesn't answer. The shifter backhands him for what must be the third time today, and then hooks a finger in the open vee of Sam's Henley and tugs. "Answer me this, then. Why are you wearing his shirt? ‘Cause he noticed. See, _he_ thinks you just got dressed in the dark. But he's wrong, isn't he?"

Sam turns his head away, focuses on breathing.

Dean—no, it's the shifter, _the shifter_ —settles himself on Sam, straddling his legs. He grabs Sam's face in one hand and forces their gazes together. "You want this the way he does."

He leans forward, whispering in Sam's ear, and it's impossible not to hear _Dean_. "Admit it, Sammy. You want me." And God help him, but Sam _does_. Wants it so badly he thinks he'll suffocate under the weight of it sometimes, to live inside Dean's pocket day in and day out and keep this secret.

The shifter bites Sam's earlobe gently, and Sam can't control the small noise that escapes him. It occurs to him that this will be the closest he ever gets to what he really wants, and maybe he should embrace that.

It's not Dean. It has Dean's body and apparently his memories, but it is not, in fact, his brother. That's the one thing he has to remember.

Sam turns his head and looks the shifter dead in the eye. Dean stares back. "Why?" he asks, needing to know.

Dean—the _shifter_ , he reminds himself—looks at him curiously, head tilted slightly to the side. "Why not, Sammy? There's only one way to get by in this world: you gotta take what you want. Dean won't, so I'll do it for him."

Sam nods. "Okay," he says, and his voice comes out hoarse. He clears his throat. "Okay."

The shifter grins, dark and primal, and Sam tries hard not to wonder if this is what Dean's partners see when he sleeps with _them_. The shifter unties the ropes around Sam's torso, but before Sam can do much, he grabs Sam's hands and ties them above his head, _very_ tightly.

"Try to escape and it's over," the shifter murmurs in Sam's ear, pressing the heel of his hand against the crotch of Sam's jeans. He rubs lightly at the hardness there, and this is all wrong. Sam wants to touch; he flexes his fingers uselessly but knows he won't be able to. He consented to this, he knows, but he never thought his hands would be bound _above_ him, and something about that throws him off-kilter. Maybe he's just realizing the enormity of his decision, but he feels a little sick.

"Hey, hey," the shifter says in Dean's voice, pressing a little harder. "Where'd you go? Back here with me, Sammy." Sam squeezes his eyes shut briefly and then opens them again.

The shifter grins, and it's so perfectly _Dean_ that Sam aches. His earlier nausea doesn't abate, but underneath it want surges again, warring with his conscience and his morals for what he knows he'd take if it was ever truly given—consequences be damned.

"I don't like it when your attention is elsewhere, Sammy," the shifter tells him, and fuck Sam if there isn't a slight pout in the tone of voice he uses. He slips off Sam's lap, hitting his knees and parting Sam's. "Let's change that, shall we?"

Sam takes a deep breath, forcing himself to relax—but it's hard when something Dean-shaped is unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, yanking at them. Sam lifts his hips to facilitate the pants-removal and wishes he could run his hands through Dean's short hair.

The shifter leans forward, grasping Sam's cock in his hand for a brief second before taking the tip in his mouth. Sam doesn't even try to muffle his groan.

It only encourages the shifter, who slides his lips wet and warm down the entire length of Sam's cock, pressing the flat of his tongue against the vein and pulling back almost the entire way.

Sam squirms a little, trying not to buck up but really, _really_ wanting to. The shifter seems to notice this, and he takes his mouth off Sam, looking up. And good _God_ but Dean looks good on his knees; like he was made to be there, all pretty cocksucking lips and obscene beauty. "Want something, Sammy?" he asks, voice low.

"Yeah," Sam pants.

"What was that?" Dean—the shifter, the shifter—asks. "I could have sworn I heard you say something."

"Please," Sam breathes, trying to keep his voice from breaking.

"Please what?" the shifter asks, and yeah, Sam has a feeling he's totally channeling Dean right now. The thought makes his cock twitch, and Sam's beyond caring at this point.

"Please," he repeats. "Please, Dean, put your mouth on me."

The shifter smiles, toothy and unnerving, and ducks his head. He presses small, closed-mouth kisses to Sam's thighs, hips, the flat of his stomach under his ( _Dean's_ ) shirt—everywhere but where Sam wants it. He huffs in frustration before realizing his mistake.

"Dean," Sam grits out, trying not to shout. "Suck my cock, _now_."

The shifter doesn't pause for a second, continuing with his small kisses—though now they're open-mouthed and wet, they still aren't anywhere near where Sam wants them to be.

"Fuck, _please_ ," Sam begs. "Suck my cock, Dean, _please_."

The shifter looks up at him and winks. "Now that's more like it," he says, before taking Sam in his mouth, tip to base in half a second flat and Sam nearly chokes on the air he's breathing in because it's so unexpected. The head of Sam's cock bumps up against Dean's throat, and Dean swallows around it.

 _God_. That's a muscle memory thing, Sam knows, so Dean must have done this before. He's suddenly, irrationally jealous, but _jesus_. No wonder Dean looks so at home on his knees.

Sam fights to keep from fucking Dean's face like he wants to, instead making soft, broken sounds as Dean—no—as the _shifter_ blows him like Sam's giving him some kind of fucking gift. Sam's coming closer and closer to the edge, about to come when the shifter slides his mouth off his cock with an obscene noise and stands up.

Then he's undoing the zip Dean's jeans, dragging them down around his ankles and straddling Sam's lap in one smooth motion. Their bodies fit together like they were made for each other, and _that_ is a line of thought Sam cannot let himself pursue any longer. Their erections line up and Sam doesn't even try to resist angling his hips up, seeking friction.

The shifter doesn't deny him, either, pressing their bodies closer together. He ducks his head to suck kisses against Sam's neck, biting gently at his collarbone, and Sam can't do anything but rock his hips against Dean and _want_. The shifter snakes one of Dean's hands down between their bodies, wrapping it around both of their cocks and jerking them off even as they fuck against each other.

"Fuck," the shifter says, almost reverently, between kisses. "I wish you could see yourself right now. No wonder I want you so badly."

Sam huffs a laugh at that, and the shifter stops, shooting him a look that he must have stolen straight from Dean's memories, because Sam's seen it a million times before. The look says _you are being a moron, Sam_ , and Sam supposes that's true.

"I don't know what your excuse is," the shifter says, rolling his hips in an obscene motion that makes Sam gasp. "I'm not even him. I just _look_ like him. You're so fucked up with wanting him, you'll screw a monster that stole his skin?"

And put like that, it sounds so terrible Sam thinks he'll die of shame. It shuts him up—and _quick_. Humiliation courses through his body, hot and certain, mixing with his arousal to form a heady feeling he wishes he weren't so intimately familiar with. He closes his eyes against the truth, but can feel his face heating up.

And then Dean's lips are on his own, kissing them open. His tongue is suddenly in Sam's mouth and Sam makes a small noise, kissing back like he's dying of hunger and Dean is going to be the one to feed him. All the while their hips rock together, friction building until it reaches a fever pitch.

"Fuck, just like that," the shifter mutters, breaking the kiss. "Just like that, Sammy, _oh_."

Sam groans and pushes back harder, fingernails digging into his palms as he fists his tied hands and wishes, uselessly, that he could grab Dean and pull him closer.

"Yeah," the shifter breathes, and bites down hard on Sam's collarbone. It pushes Sam over the edge, but he doesn't even have time to bask before the shifter is hauling himself up by the pole Sam is strapped to.

"Suck it," the shifter commands, and fuck if Dean's cock isn't at eye-level right now. Sam doesn't even think to refuse, just opens his mouth. He goes to bring his face forward, but remembers very quickly about the rope around his neck.

"Gonna have to come to me," Sam breathes, and the shifter does just that. Sam closes his eyes, sated but still wanting, as he takes Dean's cock into his mouth. He's thought about this more times than he can remember—the fullness in his mouth, being the one to make Dean moan. The shifter grips his cheeks and fucks his face, and it's more than Sam knows what to do with, so he just rides it out and tries not to gag.

After about a minute the shifter makes a low, broken noise and slows down, enough for Sam to finally _do_ something. He hollows his cheeks and _sucks_ , flicking his tongue against the bundle of nerves on the underside of the crown, and the shifter comes. Sam milks Dean's cock through it, swallowing every drop of semen and trying to commit the taste to memory.

The shifter pulls away, and then it's nothing but two men breathing heavily. The shifter clears his throat in a way Sam's heard Dean do a million times, and the familiarity pulls at something very deep inside him.

"Back to business," the shifter says, tugging Dean's pants back up and then doing the same for Sam.

Sam clears his throat, not sure what he's going to say, but it gets the shifter's attention. He shifts under the gaze, flexing his hands in their bonds and the shifter seems to remember something.

"That's _right_ ," he says, coming over, "gotta tie you back up properly. Don't know why I bother, really, when you're just going to leave me in the end." He unties Sam's hands and then presses them back against Sam's torso.

Sam struggles, but there's still a rope around his neck, so when the shifter punches him in the face, he goes still, realizing that maybe he needs to come up with another course of action.

"Leave you?" Sam asks. "Why would I leave you?"—and _boy_ , is that the wrong question. The shifter opens Dean's mouth and out comes a fucking monologue about Dean's abandonment issues and daddy issues while the shifter tightens the ropes back around Sam's body.

But the rant only lasts as long as it takes to tie Sam back up, and the shifter finishes with a cheery: "But this job, it's not without it perks. I meet the _nicest_ people! Like little Becky. You know Dean would bang her if he had the chance. Let's see, shall we?"

The shifter leaves, throwing a tarp over Sam's body—essentially tossing him aside like he means nothing, and Sam realizes with a cold clarity just how true that is. Sam's head falls forward, not enough for the ropes around his neck to pull tighter; just a little bit. The guilt of what he just did weighs on him so heavily he can't keep his head up in the face of it. He can't believe he just let himself believe all of that _nonsense_ the shifter fed him; worse still, he can't believe he acted on it.

Assuming they get out of this alive, how the fuck is he ever going to look Dean in the eye again?

He hears coughing, and freezes. Oh my god, Dean is here. Dean heard that. _All of that_. "That better be you, Sam, and not that freak of nature."

Dean's pissed, but not at Sam. Nothing in his voice indicates that he heard any of what just happened. Sam laughs, so relieved he could cry. "Yeah, it's me."


End file.
